Full Circle
by Bluestocking Inc
Summary: If the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over expecting a different outcome, then they had to be crazy. One shot, post-Hannah. BB.


"You can't just march in here and _demand_ that I find physical evidence, Booth! It's either there or it's not."

"Well if you and the squint squad could hurry it up, we might convict this bastard before he beats his other kid to death!"

Temperance Brennan and Seeley Booth were in the middle of one of their legendary fighting matches. Cam, Hodgins, Angela, and a few interns were trying very hard to act like they weren't looking. Not that it mattered; the dynamic duo tended to be less than attentive during their arguments.

"It's been almost two whole weeks, and we still can't prove anything! You're never this slow, Bones."

"We're all working very hard. Most of my interns called in sick, so we're shorthanded."

"Is there some kind of flu particular to squints-in-training going around?"

"No, they're just a little scared after you came in here waving your gun around like some kind of philistine." She said with barely disguised animosity.

"Hey, I apologized!"

"It's not just that, Booth... You've been on edge this entire case. Have you considered that you're a little too close to this?"

He looked at her ludicrously. "_Me?_"

"Yes, you. Because..." She looked around and realized that the whole lab had stopped what they were doing to stare.

"Because of your past." she whispered.

"My past?_! My past? _Bones, the murderer is you're ex-foster brother!"

"The victim was an abused male child who died protecting his younger brother! Ring any whistles, Booth?"

"Ring any bells, the expression is ring any bells!" He yelled at her.

"You'd know that if you had any social skills at all! Maybe that's what scares me about this case. You lived with the murderer for two years and you still don't care about anything but yourself and your walls! You don't have any conflicting interest, because you never allow yourself to just feel," He was breathing heavily now. "You never feel anything,_ Bones._" He mocked the nickname._ "_Nothing but regrets."

Brennan was hurt and furious, a dangerous combination. "You can't even appreciate the achievements we've made on this case! These bones are a modern anomaly. We're revolutionizing anthropology with our finds! A child would know that! Oh, wait, you're Booth. You don't _know_ anything; you're all gut and feeling and complete stupidity. Oh, wait, but you just _know_ he killed him, right? Because you just know_ everything_, don't you?"

She raised her hand to slap him. He caught it in midair.

"Not catching me off guard this time, _Brennan_."

"I wouldn't expect to. Not now that you_ know_ me so well."

They glared at each other for a few moments.

The lab was quiet, everyone silently watching the train wreck taking place in front of them.

They'd known something was coming; the Jeffersonian forensic building had been tense for months. Everyone seemed to be on the edge of something. Everything had seemed to vibrate with nervous energy. Every hallway exchange had been uneasy; every joke met with anxious laughter. Every previous action seemed to boil down to this one moment.

"I don't want to see you in this lab again, do you hear me? Actually, I don't want to see _you_ again. Not here or in a Homeland Security holding room or whatever other trap you can think up!"

"You think I even care at this point?"

He stomped out of the lab. She practically jogged to her office.

Both waited until they were sure no one was watching. Then, they both broke down in their own special ways.

* * *

She tried to do what she did best: compartmentalize.

"The occipital region of the bone shows that..."

"Clarke, get out." Angela frowned at him and gestured at the door.

He opened his mouth to reply.

"Don't you dare."

He scurried out of the room. Angela was eight months pregnant, and scary.

"Ange, what are you doing here? You should be resting."

"Oh, Bren!" She rushed over and sobbed into her shoulder. "Hodgie called me, and I had to come. You and Booth, it's _horrible. _You're both so... and... Oh, Bren!"

"I understand that the hormonal changes going on inside of you are heightening your emotions, and..."

"Bren, you have to rethink this. It this will tear the team apart! We'll all be picking sides... You two were supposed to be the baby's godparents, and..."

"You can be friends with both of us."

"Oh, sweetie, you don't get it... I'm sorry, I..." she recovered herself and looked at Brennan with startling ferocity. "We wouldn't lose Temperance or Seeley if you two split up, we'd loose you. Plural 'you.' As in the only two people on the planet that could ever fall madly in love and not even realize it. As in the only two people who are so screwed up they aren't even that screwed up any more.

"As in... As in the only people I know who... The only two people who are ever thought of in plural 'you', because that's just how close they are.

"Don't you see? Bren, you're both great and amazing and all that jazz, but together... Together, you're breathtaking. Amazing. Really. Two parts of the same whole.

"So... Go. Get out of here, go take a walk, take a drive, take a nap for all I care. But think about what I said, sweetie. 'Cause if you don't, it'll bite you in the ass. I guarantee it." Angela had a look of fierce determination as she lead her friend to the door.

"I'm not familiar with the phrase 'all that jazz.'"

"That's what you got out of that conversation?" Angela steamed, stripping her best friend of her lab coat. "Bye, sweetie!"

"But, Angela, the victim needs my full attention..."

"No. The dead guy doesn't need you. The living one does." she was about to lose her patient with her friend. "Brennan, if you aren't out of this lab by the time I get to five I am popping this thing out right now." She gestured to her bloated stomach.

"Tt's impossible to..."

The automated lab doors shut before she could finish.

* * *

"Gordon Gordon Wyatt!"

"Agent Booth! What a pleasant surprise," The psychiatrist turned chef cocked his head at a pot. "If you could just take that off the stove, I'd be happy to start some tea... Unless, of course, you're filling in for Chef Brady?"

"Yeah... I mean, no... I mean..." He lifted the pot and handed it to Gordon.

"Thank you!" He checked the temperature and set it by the spices. "Yes, yes. That'll do... Hold this, please." Gordon handed him a large saucer full of an unidentifiable reddish brown substance. "Well. If you aren't here to fill in for Mr. Brady, why exactly are you here?"

"Can't a guy just drop in on an old friend without getting questioned?"

Gordon looked at him for the first time since he'd arrived. "Why, yes, in theory he could. But you have a tendency to come in for exactly the opposite... Now, tell me, is this about your partner or that blond spitfire you brought in for dinner a few months ago?"

He shook his head.

"Yes, I knew that wouldn't last. You were both so tense last time..."

"So you haven't given up on psychiatry?"

"Oh, of course I have. But you're exactly the person that seems to force it out of me—put that saucer by the arugula, Agent Booth, before it leaks all over everything... No, that's the mint..." He steered him away. "Yes. Well. Why are you here?"

"Brennan and I are dissolving our partnership."

Gordon decided to ask about the more pressing issue. "Why do you think you just called Dr. Brennan 'Brennan?'"

"It's her name, right?"

"Yes, but not your name for her."

"I can call her that if I want to."

Gordon looked at him disbelievingly. "How does Dr. Brennan feel about that?"

"It doesn't matter." Booths face hardened imperceptibly.

"Alright then. I suppose it doesn't."

"Yeah." He seemed confused.

"For how long have you and the good doctor been considering dissolving your partnership?"

"Since... Well... Maybe two hours ago?"

"This ought to be good."

"We kind of... blew up. Imploded on each other." He shook his head. "It was like every argument we'd ever had in almost eight years of partnership just burst out in ten minutes. In front of about thirty curious squints." His expression was bitter at best.

"You're ending a partnership of... how many years did you say?"

"Eight on the 19th."

Gordon decided not to comment on that. "You're ending almost eight years of strong partnership over a ten minute tiff over..."

"How I'm stupid and know nothing. How she doesn't care about anyone and knows everything. You know. The usual."

"But that's not your usual topics, Agent Booth. Usually you argue about zombies and the genitalia of reptiles, not your feelings."

"We didn't argue about our feelings, exactly..."

"Of course not—but in eight years of partnership, you've learned a lot about each other. You know about each others strengths and weaknesses. You know about the weaknesses you think are strengths and vice versa.

"You're obviously extremely hurt at things that were said, but... Well... Take it this way: the worst is over. Now you've just got to figure the rest of it out." He smiled at him sadly. "You and Dr. Brennan are more alike than you think. Much more. And that's my opinion on the subject."

"What are you talking about?"

Gordon grinned slightly. "Oh, nothing at all. Now, if you'd please excuse me, I must get this soup to Ms. Adelaide's book club before they rebel against the waiters..."

* * *

By seven o'clock, they were both at the same bar for the same reason.

This is where it had all started. Ripley's Irish Pub and Shooting Hall, five blocks south of Booth's apartment and two miles east of Brennan's.

Booth was drinking a Heineken far too quickly at the far end of the bar when Brennan came in. She sat down next to him.

She motioned for the bartender. "Two shots of tequila."

Booth looked at her, his expression half amused and half unsurprised. "Sure that's a good idea there, Bones?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Well, we don't work together anymore, do we?"

"Fair enough."

He downed his. "I haven't been here since our first kiss. Therefore, I haven't gambled."

She downed hers. "I came to this bar every Friday at eight until you cornered me at the airport."

"I didn't corner you..."

"You abused your position as an agent to get me to work with you again!"

"Tomäto, tomãto," he said.

She punched him lightly in the shoulder.

He downed another shot. "I came to the lab once during that year. I sat on the balcony and stared for a half an hour."

She drank hers. "I saw you, and you're lying. It was more like an hour."

And so they went.

"When I was with Cam, I thought about you."

"I didn't leave the lab once for the two weeks you were dead. Actually, I hardly left my office."

"If you hadn't given me your sperm, I wouldn't have wanted a baby."

"I still dream about Mr. B and Bren. All the time."

"I lied. I relapsed the day I learned you were going to Malopoo."

"I prayed to your God for your safety in _Maluku_."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Hannah thinks we broke up because of her leaving so much."

"No. She doesn't. She came to my office the day of her flight and basically told me to have sex with you."

"'Guy hugs' are crap."

"Everyone knows that, it doesn't count."

"Fine. I just _know_ I'm in love with you. You might not believe it, but I do."

"Yeah. I love you too."

They staggered out of the bar.

Brennan hailed a cab easily.

It was a light, breezy evening. Brennan was halfway in the cab when he stopped her.

"Wait, wait, Bones... you can't... I mean... You can't just ride away and forget about—"

She grabbed his lapels and suddenly they were kissing.

Brennan looked into his eyes, and he into hers.

And in those warm browns and baby blues they found eventually.

* * *

**Penny for your thoughts?**


End file.
